


Good Christian Boys

by avalonroses



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 11:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12107850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonroses/pseuds/avalonroses
Summary: Alfred is nothing but the perfect, morally sound cop with nothing to hide. Or, so it seems.





	Good Christian Boys

“I’m Agent Beilschmidt and this is my partner, Agent Jones,” the pale-haired man said, reaching across to shake Arthur’s hand. Agent Jones followed suit, grasping Arthur’s hand with his larger one. Arthur eyed the tall man from head to toe with shameless appreciation and he received similar treatment from Agent Jones, the man devouring him with his clear-water blue eyes.

Arthur gestured for the duo to make themselves comfortable in the chairs opposite his desk.

“Thank you for seeing us today, Mr. Kirkland, we know you have a busy schedule,” Beilschmidt chirped.

Arthur poured hot water into his glass teacup, watching as the dried jasmine flower unfurled and infused with the water. It didn’t hit the spot quite like English tea but it was palatable enough.

“It’s not as if I’m in any position to refuse, Mr. Beilschmidt,” Arthur said, his tone as light and pleasant as spring afternoon. His eyes, however, were baleful. The Englishman retrieved a packet of cigarettes from his blazer pocket and kindled the tip of one with his lighter. Tea wouldn’t be strong enough for this meeting. He offered the packet to the agents and both declined.

“We’re just following orders. With all the money laundering and fraud going on in companies like yours, the big cheeses want us to keep a close eye on you guys. For security reasons,” the FBI agent explained, his mouth quirking into a toothy grin. “I’m sure you understand.”

The air in the room thickened with the threatening undercurrent of the exchange. Arthur exhaled a fragrant spiral of smoke and smiled tightly.

“I hope you’re not accusing me of unlawful misconduct, agent.”

“We’re not accusing you of anything, Mr. Kirkland,” replied Agent Jones. “A reasonable guy like you hasn’t got any dirty secrets to hide, right?”

Arthur’s body thrummed with warmth at the whisper of carnality in Jones’ gaze.

“Quite the contrary.” Arthur drew on the end of his cigarette with lethargic sensuality. Jones’ eyes flickered to Arthur’s mouth as he sucked on his bottom lip then blew smoke over the gloss he’d created. “I have many dirty secrets to hide. I don’t suppose a good, law-abiding Christian boy like yourself would know anything about that.”

“Tell me about it!” Gilbert exclaimed. “This kid’s got more moral fibre than the freakin’ pope.”

Jones leant forward in his seat, as if to close the gap between him and Arthur. “I may be a good Christian boy, Mr. Kirkland, but I know all about dirty secrets.” The American’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair. Arthur felt Jones’ unsaid intentions ripple across his spine, phantom hands smoothing over his belly and down to his thighs.

“Is that so? How exciting.” Arthur breathed, raising a thick eyebrow. “And before you ask, Mr. Beilschmidt, no, none of these secrets are of a criminal nature.”

“Then you won’t mind if we carry out an investigation,” Jones stated rather than asked.

“Oh, you can investigate all you want.”

-/-

In hindsight, calling Alfred in advance may have been a prudent precaution. It would have saved Gilbert the awkwardness of being in Alfred’s apartment while he was going to town on some innocent soul begging hoarsely for Alfred to both continue and stop.

Gilbert hovered in the front room, needlessly refreshing his emails on his phone. It was incongruous to hear the kid partaking in such a sinful exercise; Alfred was the embodiment of decency, a regular American do-gooder, teeming with deep-seated Puritan values. Gilbert had had him pinned as a ‘no sex before marriage’ kind of guy.

Evidently, he’d come to the wrong conclusion.

Did he wait for Alfred to… finish up or interrupt him?

There was the possibility Alfred would mislabel Gilbert as a semi-voyeuristic pervert if he found Gilbert sitting patiently in his front room after he’d just pounded into his gentleman friend. On the other hand, working as an FBI agent was an unforgiving, around-the-clock occupation that left little time for extracurricular activities and Gilbert didn’t want to be the guy that blue-balled Alfred.

The harmony of flesh striking against flesh grew louder, frantic.

Gilbert scrubbed a hand through his hair, mussing it further, and tapped his foot. The guttural sound of Alfred speaking, staggered by his rhythmic motions, collided with Gilbert’s ears.

“You like that, sweetheart? You like it when I fuck you so hard you can’t remember your own name?” 

So much for those Puritan values.

He couldn’t do this. He apologised to Alfred in his head and knocked a paperweight from the coffee table, creating a commotion of noise.

Silence swallowed the air.

Moments later, Gilbert was greeted by a topless Alfred sidestepping out of bedroom door, fist clenched around a gun.

“Hey, man, it’s just me,” Gilbert informed him, standing up.

Alfred’s body slackened, the hostility sliding off him.

“Dude, what the hell. I thought you were a burglar.”

“Sorry, I should have called you. Didn’t realise you were busy!” Gilbert winked at the bedroom door.

The American’s cheeks went ruddy and he worried his teeth into his lip, a clear indicator of his embarrassment.

“Oh, yeah.” Alfred laughed with faux nonchalance and looked down at his feet. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to feel bad for interrupting,” Gilbert said sheepishly. “Listen, we’ve busted this Swiss banker, Basch Zwingli, he’s got all these accounts full of dirty fucking money, I’m talking twenty two million dollars here –”

“Shit,” Alfred interjected.

“Yeah, you got that right. Some of the accounts were under the name Francis Bonnefoy, the guy lives in Europe so the American authorities can’t interfere but if we can crack Bonnefoy, I bet you I know a guy who owns a lot of that money.”

“Kirkland,” Alfred hissed, his brow creasing with annoyance.

“The boss has given me the go ahead to question this French idiot but I didn’t want you to miss out. I know how much you want to nail this Kirkland son of a bitch.”

“I’m gonna nail him so hard he’ll forget his own name,” Alfred announced, pivoting on his heel and walking towards his bedroom. “Get the car started, I’ll be out two minutes.”

-/-

Gilbert shook the laptop and nearly crushed the screen’s rim. Fury infested him, expanding its burning fingers into his brain and causing him to see red. He yelled a riot of filthy German expletives.

“The money’s gone!” he cried, grinding his teeth down. He found himself wrestling with Alfred who was attempting to restrain him.

“Gilbert! Calm down! What are you talking about?”

Alfred clamped his hands around Gilbert’s arms and wrenched him away from the laptop. His face was lined with concern.

“What money?” Alfred asked, keeping his grip firm on his partner’s biceps.

“The money in the Swiss bank accounts, the money under Francis Bonnefoy’s name, it’s all just fucking disappeared! I can’t even track where it’s gone or who withdrew it.” Gilbert jerked away from Alfred and drooped into his chair, eyeing the emptied vault records. “I don’t know how this is possible – Zwingli and Bonnefoy are in custody and we’ve frozen the accounts. The only way Kirkland could withdraw that money is if –”

“Is if what?” Alfred took a seat beside Gilbert, his eyes wide and questioning.

“What if one of our guys is helping Kirkland out?”

Alfred went still and unblinking before darting his gaze away and training it to an abandoned mug that had some form of congealed caffeinated liquid inside.

“You mean –”

“The only person capable of withdrawing that money, at this point in the game, would be an FBI agent,” Gilbert declared, his voice hushed and grim.

“Gil, I’d be careful about making accusations like that. You haven’t got any proof and, by the sounds of it, you can’t get any proof.” Alfred paused and patted Gilbert on the shoulder. “Arthur Kirkland is a bastard and we both know what games he’s playing but don’t let him get inside your head. He’s got connections; he would be able to empty those bank accounts.”

Gilbert massaged the space between his eyes and sighed, his body deflating.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Do you wanna go and get coffee? I think you need to get out of this office.”

The German nodded and lifted himself to his feet. “Hey, you never told me who you fucking the other day.”

Alfred chuckled boyishly and tapped his nose. “That’s my dirty little secret.”

-/-

Arthur’s belly tautened with anticipation at the mechanic sound of the door being pushed open. Muted footsteps tracked over the carpet, making a beeline for the bedroom. Arthur observed the twitch of the door handle and his heart went weightless, giddy, and his blood went hot in his groin.

“Don’t be shy, Mr. Moral Fibre,” Arthur teased loud enough so he could be heard through the door. “I’m still waiting to be thoroughly investigated.”

Alfred stepped into the room and laughed unapologetically as he took in the sight before him.

Arthur knew how to be tasteful but he also knew how to be extravagant and after a long day at work, he deemed Alfred deserving of some extravagance. Perhaps lounging naked and hard on a bed obscured by wads of cash with a glass of crisp champagne was too indulgent for the FBI agent.

“I should call the police, there’s a criminal in my bed,” Alfred said, voice lilted with amusement.

Uninterested in the champagne, Arthur set it down on the bedside table, legs parting with the movement. He knew Alfred had spied the motion because the American licked his lips.

“You’re keeping all this impure money safe for me, Alfred. I do believe that makes us both criminals,” Arthur said. “Besides, I’ve been in your bed many times before.”

“You know, only you can greet someone naked with a hard-on and still look as dignified as a king,” Alfred commented, his smile warm and wide and affectionate. He crossed his arms and rested his body against the doorframe, his gaze fastened to Arthur.

The Englishman’s lips pulled in the corners. “One must always maintain composure.”

His words set desire aflame in Alfred’s eyes and his expression turned predatory.

“Not always. I know a pretty effective way of breaking your composure.”

Arthur’s breathing quickened and he felt his rationality seep away from him. 

“You made me a promise you have to yet to honour,” Arthur said.

“Yeah?”

“To fuck me until I can’t remember my own name.”

Alfred closed the bedroom door, skulking towards Arthur, his body svelte and catlike. He made a low noise that rumbled in his chest – a sort of growl.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I always honour my promises.”


End file.
